


rage and anger, brawling and slander

by beanarie



Series: the past and pending [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Illness, Post-Finale, but also hurt/semi-schadenfreude, like 3 years post finale, misuse of accessibility devices, this will read silver-critical but that's just bc flint's head is kinda silver-critical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: James and Thomas have settled into a life with farm animals and books and fresh produce and Silver has shown up to ruin everything. Fromthis brilliant and lovely premisebyellel.





	rage and anger, brawling and slander

A relationship of any kind should be considered at an unmitigated end when one partner places the other in chains. Should be, but what they'd shared had never exactly followed convention. James is utterly calm when Silver appears at his home, accompanied by a host of spirits, wanting to bring up events James has decidedly moved on from. He finds in that moment that a part of him has been waiting for this all along.

The discussion springs to life almost immediately, and it is as fraught and painful as it had been the last time they spoke. Thomas flits in and out, more out than in, unobtrusive but unmistakably curious. James can't blame him; Silver set the course too quickly for him to extricate himself from the area, and it was clear Silver doesn't care about witnesses. Despite several years between then and now, the emotions run too high, and the only way James can continue talking is to turn his back and pour drinks. 

James has added a few fingers of rum into two of the glasses and is in mid-sentence when Silver leaves the parlor without a word, each stomp of his crutch growing quieter with distance. The bastard's going for the exit.

Thomas drifts in with a dropped jaw. "I'm sorry. Did that truly just happen?"

Silver disappears from view just as he crosses the threshold, followed by a thump. They spare each other a look, then find him just outside the door, retching weakly. Suddenly Silver wasn't flushed due to wearing too many clothes in Florida, his gaze was not hooded because he could not maintain eye contact with someone he'd wronged, and at least some of the times he squinted with a furrowed brow it was not out of frustration but pain. 

"John Silver," James sighs, the worst of his anger blowing away on a soft breeze as he sits, unable to chase after it, "What the fuck have you done to yourself this time?" 

The man he addresses is not quite there anymore, his strength sapped by the escape attempt. He blinks with glazed eyes, making no move to get up, or to acknowledge the mess he left a short distance away. Typical. 

"Miscounted," he mumbles, swaying on his knees. "I'll try again tomorrow."

"Try what again? Painting my porch with your afternoon meal?" A quick glance at the puddle proves there was no meal. Silver has not eaten for at least a day. He also shows no surprise at having taken ill. The man showed up at his door consumed with fever and _ran_ when he could no longer hide it. 

Silver pitches sideways and scrambles to catch himself, his fingers struggling for purchase on the wooden slats. He fails, but James is there. "All right," James says without thinking too hard about it. "Be calm." The heat from Silver's body is radiating through the both of them now.

"Fuck," Silver says. Was he always breathing this harshly? Is this new, or is James only noticing because it's so close to his ear? "Wrong day. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Thomas shifts his weight in the doorway, making one of the floorboards creak. "Miscounted, wrong day," he echoes, mulling it over. "Intermittent fevers."

Trust him to make sense of a sick man's ravings. James jerks his chin toward the house. "Can you get some blankets for this idiot?"

Thomas picks up Silver's errant crutch. "I'll set something up in the kitchen."

"I'll be fine." Silver sounds slightly more present, but distant and weary, and worryingly resigned. "It'll pass."

"Shut up." He calls after Thomas. "And a nightshirt."

~

Thomas and James clink glasses and finally down the rum he poured when the world turned on its ear. 

Thomas refills their drinks. "This should last a few more hours, then he'll be sweating and fatigued. In a day or two, a round of chills starts the cycle anew."

James scrubs a hand across his mouth. He's seen it in his travels, a nasty, exhausting bit of business. Before the end, it progresses to something truly awful.

"There is a treatment," Thomas says. "Useless for some strains of the disease, but by all appearances it would work here. The weather is temperate enough. I can take the horse and seek assistance from the doctor." 

It doesn't occur to James until later that he could have protested, and even then he can't think of a reason to. After checking on Silver, coaxing a bit more water down his throat and ensuring he won't breathe in his own vomit during the night, James settles in the foyer with a chair from the kitchen. Silver had called him Madi, which, along with the urge to check Silver's eyesight, gives him cause to wonder whether she has been nursing him through this. The pair may very well not have spoken in years. The last time anyone had cared about his opinion on the matter, James had proclaimed them ill-fated--Madi is too true and sure of her place in the world, and Silver is too Silver. In other words, he is neither of those things.

Despite his determination to stay awake until Thomas's return, he startles at the sudden kiss on his cheekbone so violently he nearly smacks his head against the wall. 

"Dropped off, did you?" Thomas says. "Sorry. I should have left you alone. My news certainly could have waited until morning." 

James accepts the hand tugging him from the chair and maintains his hold, allowing himself to be led to the bedroom. "That hardly sounds promising."

"The doctor does not have Peruvian bark on the premises. But."

"Yes?"

"He says with a great deal of confidence that the surgeon in St. Augustine does. He's already sent a letter informing them of my arrival. I can be there and back in a week."

"You can be back in a week."

The smug little smile on Thomas's face is more of a weakness for James than gold. "Yes. Well. We both know I'm the superior rider." 

"What if I kill him in the meantime?"

"Your decision, of course, but I do hope the effort I'll be putting forth on this undertaking will provide an effective enough deterrent. Also. James." 

"Thomas," he says evenly.

He has backed James against the armoire, and he somehow manages to look earnest and wry at the same time. "Dearest. You are in love with him."

James covers Thomas's forehead with his hand, muttering, "I thought you couldn't pass on intermittents."

Thomas accepts the touch gladly, with an infuriating smirk. "You'll never allow me the whole story, but I can see it so clear. Two men thrown together by the whimsy of circumstance, joining forces out of mutual benefit, creating something neither of you expected."

It cannot be the same in as many ways as it is completely different. He kisses Thomas and pushes him onto the bed, trying to remove the notion from both their heads. "That faithless wretch," he breathes, "is not you."

As ever, Thomas has a riposte. "Of course not. Are we meant to only love one sort of person?"

~

When Silver wakes, shortly after dawn, his eyes are clear and he's oddly cowed. He accepts the water James offers with trembling hands and quiet thanks, still unable to look at him. "I'll be out before midday. If you could just spare a bit more time."

"Ask me about Thomas."

Now he looks up. "Um. Thomas is...?"

"On his way to St. Augustine for a month's supply of Peruvian bark. The doctor said that's how long it generally takes to defeat intermittent fevers."

He closes his eyes and lies back, his throat working as he swallows. 

"You're staying for the duration," James announces unnecessarily.

Silver laughs weakly. "Forget midday. Where's my fucking crutch?"

It's the first time he's been anything close to recognizable. An unwanted rush of fondness crashing over him, James puts more inches between them until his back is against the wall and tries to ignore the sound in the back of his mind. Thomas is miles away. He is not allowed to laugh at him right now. "You will die, needlessly. Sooner rather than later. Your skin will turn yellow, you'll start having fits, and you'll slip away, or, more likely, an enemy will catch you unawares during a fever. You'd like that to be the end of your story?"

Silver smothers a cough and uses the back of his hand to wipe some of the sweat from his brow. "My problem to deal with."

James struggles to envision a place where a one-legged pirate with bounties on his head who has betrayed his closest allies can take refuge for multiple weeks. Silver is an uncommonly resourceful man, but if he could have found such a place, if he had wanted to, he would have done so by now.

"Looking back," James says calmly. "I count three occasions where you refused me the death of my choosing. If I tried, it's possible I could come up with more. Are you somehow under the impression that I would not take similarly cutthroat measures to keep you alive? You believe yourself that inconsequential and me that timid in preserving what matters?" He smiles in a way he hasn't in quite some time, when he feels like lifting a sword he no longer has a few inches from its scabbard just to remind someone that it's there. _You put me in chains, I hide your crutch._

Silver grits his teeth. "I did not come for this."

"Indeed why have you come all this way? Absolution? You cannot believe that calamitous shitshow yesterday settled accounts between us. Even if you could leave, would it not render your entire journey futile?" He may never grant forgiveness. Thomas's observation gives some insight as to why the betrayal cut as deep as it did. He will not share this with Silver. The man will stay, he will recover, then he can fuck off and never return. 

"I will crawl through every room in this goddamn-" Silver is fading fast, his grip on the glass growing slack. 

James leans in to take it from his hand. He lays his thumb down the middle of Silver's lined forehead. "Rest." It is an order, it is permission, it is also something of a taunt. And for once in his degenerate life, Silver obeys.

~

The past might have blown through his world like a hurricane, knocking everything over and taking Thomas away for a time, but there are still chores to be done. James feeds the chickens, gathers some eggs, and milks the cow. He checks on his vegetable patch, but doesn't tarry too long. 

Silver sits in the parlor, reading a book Thomas got from the wife of a rancher last month. 

"What ho, jailer," he greets, licking a finger before he turns the page. He's changed back into his own clothes but chosen to forgo the coat, which is draped over the couch. "Productive day?"

That book had last been seen in the master bedroom. Upstairs. The crutch does not appear to be in the immediate area, he notes, with no small sense of validation. Then he spies something leaning against his ottoman not far from where Silver's foot rests. "Is- is that...?" He doesn't bother to finish the question. He knows what it is and Silver knows that he knows. 

The fucking leg from the kitchen table.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know the western world has pretty much accurately diagnosed and had an effective treatment for malaria since the mid 1600s, due to the Quechua people of Peru? WILD. So yes, I did a little research and then fell down a rabbit hole. For now, I'm considering this a one-shot, but I may tool around a bit and add another chapter.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [rage and anger, brawling and slander [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14108634) by [beanarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie), [ponytailflint (inkgeek)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkgeek/pseuds/ponytailflint)




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